Scarred Souls and the Dawn of the Dragon
by Chimera Ravenstone
Summary: After the war where "it all ends" – they are left to face the aftermath. One dies when the chance came. One leaves and comes back. And she won't be the only one to return... Draco/OC Eleanor & Harry/OC Adelheid. Post-film. Based on the movies.
1. Prologue: Darklight, Daynight

▌**Title:** _Scarred Souls and the Dawn of the Dragon_

▌**Summary:** After the war where "it all ends" – Eleanor is left to face the aftermath. She is too weak to balance between choices, ultimately tipping the scales when she leaves to pursue a new life. Upon her return, have things changed or stayed the same? Will she stay in the world of Muggles, or can she survive in the wildfire of the Wizarding World? And she won't be the only one to return... Draco/OC(Eleanor) & Harry/OC(Adelheid). Post-film. Based on the movies.

▌**Warnings:** Suggestive material and angsty stuff.

▌**Disclaimer:** All the credit goes to JK Rowling because she is awesome. I own only the storyline and the OC's of this fanfiction.

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><p><em>PROLOGUE: PART 1<em>

**Music Box: **"River Flows In You" by Yiruma

_Dear Eleanor,  
><em>_This will be the last letter I send you. After this, you're coming back.  
>I know I've sent a hundred already, saying the same thing over and over again. I've asked you, compromised with you, begged you.<br>I'm coming to get you.  
>-Draco.<em>

She watched as the last letter burned to nothing but crispy ashes in the cinders by the amber-lit fireplace. Ashes to ashes...

The luggage was packed and ready by the front door. She, too, was ready to move on. Burn that thought as well. _She was ready long before_. Now she'd be moving on again.

x

_PART 2_

**Music Box:** "Hedwig's Theme" by John Williams

We like to watch the sunset drift down into the blue ocean and turn it gold, watch the clusters and clusters of tiny diamond stars in the vast space of a dark oblivion and we like to watch the sunrise paint the early morning sky a light pink gradient.

As reasonable, simple-minded humans, we cannot meddle with time. We cannot unwind the great golden hands of the grandfather clock. We cannot undo what has already been written. Unless... of course; we do wield a fantastical, handy instrument like Hermione Granger's. But even some of us aren't that lucky. We can improvise.

We're not here to give you a lecture, but we'll give you two lives' stories. We are Dark and Light and we are Night and Day. Lines may blur, you know.

This is our story. And so it begins where it all ends.

x

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><p>▌<strong>AN:** My first fanfiction on here, being HP cuz the series is awesomeness.  
>The 2nd part turned out to be more of a drabble than a proper prologue... And the letter sounded like some corny rap.<br>I hope I didn't bore you to death already with the excessive visuals! And if you're confused, good! Nothing is supposed to make sense. :D  
>Also, listen to the music I gave you-the first is this fic's "theme song". You might've already listened to it, but if you haven't, I totally recommend it because it's the best thing ever.<br>Keep in mind that almost everything I say here has a meaning behind it (even the setting descriptions) but that's up to your own interpretations also.  
>I'd like to know what you thought of this as a first. Thanks~ (:<p> 


	2. The Girl Who Died

_Chapter 1:__** The Girl Who Died**_

**Music Box: **"The Oblivation" by Alexandre Desplat

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><p>Her death was a blur. It happened between a flash of red and green.<p>

One day, in the near future, she would be remembered as a brave and noble heroine. But that thought hadn't occurred to her. One day, very soon, a boy will lose his mind and hers in turn. But that thought hadn't occurred to her. The only thought, the only _goal_, drenched in her mind now was to let the Boy Who Lived carry on living. She had to do this before it slips and washes away from her mind.

Between a flash of brilliant red and striking green, there was gold. She stood in the centre. She turned it silver, like the Moon reflecting light.

Her interference threw Harry Potter back several metres by an overwhelming, unseen force, making him crash into a massive tower of rubble. Her reflection reversed Voldemort's curse, filling the Dark Lord with an indescribable pain, and for a few seconds, he thought he faced Death. Somewhere in the castle, Neville had slain Nagini. It was all Harry needed.

Limp from the impact, Adelheid fell. And then she flew. Her body lifted off the ground, delicately at first, then transformed into a flock of iridescent, blue Emperor butterflies.

Above all noises, there was a scream in the background. Like a banshee, Eleanor wailed at the bittersweet sight. She killed another Death Eater, threw herself toward the place where her best friend lay just moments before defying gravity, then allowed Draco Malfoy to hold her back. The destiny must be fulfilled. She cried loudly, even when one stray butterfly flitted up to her, as if it were an attempt to sooth her, but the tears streaking her dirt-covered face won't stop.

x

She sat at the dining table in the Burrow. They decided to abandon Grimmauld Place for now, since it held sorrowful memories not fit for the time of celebration, and simply because they did not want to revisit. Same as the past three weeks, she lifts the dull fork and scraped its pointed fingers on the surface of the roasted beef on her plate.

"Eleanor, sweetheart, you're barely touching your food."

"Not hungry," she replied rudely. The clatter and chatter at the table subsided and the room fell silent, eyes turning to her. She shut her eyes tightly sighing. _What is wrong with me?_ Well, Eleanor was part of the Order of the Phoenix—Dumbledore made it happen. She was also a member of Dumbledore's Army. "What is wrong with that?" Anyone might ask. Well, she betrayed both. Eleanor joined the Death Eaters' clan, only in effort to protect Draco. She believed it was foolish at first—until she defied Voldemort. She fooled the "Dark Lord," acting naive and pretending that she did not know of her own family's death. She wondered if it was something to be proud of, then decided against that thought. She'd killed many, tortured many, under the order of both sides. For the Order, she was to be the source of power and fear twisted together, and for the Dark, she was a ruthless killing machine. Either way, she played the bad guy. Molly Weasley was the one person, except for Draco who knew everything, to forgive and accept her the quickest. Ever since her family died by the hands of a certain bastard, Mrs Weasley was the closest she could find to a mother-figure. "I'm sorry." Feeling like crap, she excused herself from the table in silence.

The room stayed quiet even when she left for the stairs. As soon as she reached the fifth step, hushed voices spoke up: "Draco, I expected you to make Eleanor eat more. It's been three weeks and she looks so thin!" Eleanor backed down a step, expecting Draco's reply. He didn't speak up. She could almost see Draco's uncomfortable expression. She was a little disappointed.

"She's probably still thinking about Adelheid." Eleanor flinched. "Ginny!" "What? It's true."

"Don't blame them, Mrs Weasley," said Harry. "If it should be anyone's fault, it's mine." She wouldn't hear it anymore. She felt sick. She rushed up the stairs and into the bathroom.

As soon as she reached the toilet, she threw up all of today's contents: a bite from an unfinished sandwich, a chocolate donut and no less than three biscuits. _It's been three days like this already,_ she thought. _Ohmygod. What if? No! _She mentally slapped herself. _No way! _But it is possible...She made it happen with Draco Malfoy... The night before the war... She counted her fingers, gasping.

Eleanor fell to the floor, hands smothering her face with shame. _Please, don't let this be reality._

_x_

Eleanor packed all her belongings in no more than one suitcase and a backpack. She didn't have much to begin with, seeing as everything else she owned in her house had been burned down by the bound-to-hell Death Eaters (and she'll make sure they're bound to hell one day, literally) but now she had even less to own. She will bring with her only the necessities—toothbrush, toothpaste, clothes and money—everything else she left for them to throw away, knowing as she could not do it herself. Catching sight of her precious black liquid eyeliner on the bedside table, Eleanor hesitated to leave it. Forcing her eyes away from the beloved little cylinder, she told herself firmly: _this is the only way_. To start a new life, to escape the vivid nightmares, to forget.

She charmed her luggage so that it would float out her (temporary) bedroom window, down to the grassy field below. It was her last spell. She'll pick them up after. She didn't want to make a scene by dragging them down the stairs all the way to the front door. She didn't want to face everyone—her friends, her second family—and say goodbye. So she resulted to one conclusion.

Eleanor re-entered the kitchen scene. Once again, the chatter died down. She could not bring herself to find it annoying, not anymore, when it'd be the last time. Her eyes shifted reluctantly, hesitantly, as she took in each of her friends' features: Hermione's wild, (tame compared to during the first year) bushy brown hair; Ron's boldly ginger, very red hair; Neville's goofy-friendly grin; Luna's dreamy eyes; Harry's mop of hair; dear Ginny; funny George; beautiful Bill and Fleur; Mr and Mrs Weasley... All they could see in Eleanor's eyes was sorrow, and if they had known better, they would've seen open windows of total and sincere apology. And then they landed on Draco Malfoy.

"I want to speak with Draco." She offered a cheerful eye-smile. When she saw them sharing looks of relief, (they knew she wouldn't go crazy) she relaxed slightly. However, the air on Draco's face was far from relief. He looked suspicious, and he didn't buy it; her act of cheerfulness. He knew her too well, and she had to end that.

Without a word, they walked out the front door. His eyes flickered from the luggage to her. "What is this?" He looked frightened, his voice trembled and she could tell he was trying to keep his voice level.

"I'm sorry." The words immediately escaped her mouth.

"I don't want your sorry!"

"I have to do this!" She said it more to herself than him. She felt selfish for doing so. She felt selfish for everything. "This place..." Her eyes darted around her. "I can't take this anymore."

"The Burrow?" He cried, frustrated and confused.

"No!" She hung her head low, hating to look into those eyes.

"Then?" His piercing eyes penetrated through her skull. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"It's not you," she growled. "It's not always you." She forced herself to say it, though she knew it was a lie. It's always been him. "The more I stay here, the longer it takes for the memories to go."

"Memories," he repeated. "Us?" He was crying now. "So you're only going... for them... for us... to go away... quicker?" He was finding it hard to not break the sentence apart, hard to not break the image of his own self. It pained her to see him like this. Without thinking, she touched her belly. As quickly as she did so, her hand dropped. But Draco saw. "You're sick!" He accused her, wiping a hand across his wet face and grabbing her hand with the other. "Come, let's go inside. You're hungry." He sounded desperate.

She snatched her hand from his metal grip. "Stop. Stop pretending to care." Her eyes were glued to the ground. "My whole family is _gone_. My best friend is _dead_. I've _killed at the mass_," she hissed. Her words were unlike her, as cold as ice, not like her warm, usual self at all. "I have no one."

He looked ill. He wanted to say, "not even me?" but his mind was telling him that he _was_ no one, although his heart was telling him something else. Nevertheless, the fact became crystal clear: he was _nobody_ to her.

"So this is it?" He looked like he was going to collapse. Even if that happened, she would still abandon him like the selfish person she truly was. She would not fall guilty and stop when she'd gotten so far.

"Yeah," she answered in a cracked voice, a voice as weak as her excuses. She wanted to end this quickly, before the sliver of chance appeared to reconsider.

"No." His voice cracked, too. "Please."

With forced disgust, she eyed him disapprovingly, almost feeling horrible. But truthfully, she took in his facial features one at a time, storing them somehow, somewhere in her heart. His smooth, pale skin, those stone-grey eyes that were melting from the white-hot tears, his sleek, just-as-pale blonde hair that reminded her so much of his Death Eater father, his sculptured nose and soft lips... Then a plan hit her. _Reminded her so much of his Death Eater father,_ her own thoughts relayed.

It was the final plan, before she chooses Plan B: where she'd forget all this and just throw herself into his welcoming arms, but no, that wouldn't happen. And so the final plan was: "Goodbye Malfoy."

x

Her words cut him like a venom-coated knife and he wanted to tell her; "you're a true Slytherin," because she was actually a Gryffindor, just like when they were in each other's arms, joking around verbally. But she hadn't addressed him as that since, well, they fell in love. Now he was wondering gloomily whether to call it love or not. And if it wasn't, then what was he feeling for her for so long? What had she felt for him?

He was passing the kitchen door, hoping to be left alone as he tried to make it to the staircase. However, luck just wasn't on his side tonight.

"So how'd it go?" Ron Weasley called from the kitchen, forcing him to pause right in front of the open. He felt so low he couldn't be bothered to call Weasley "weasel" at any given moment. They must've seen his tear-stricken face, because now they were gaping like a cinema audience. "My dear boy, what happened?" The Weasley mother, too, was shocked, but asked him kindly.

"Eleanor." And that was all that took for them to comprehend what happened. "She left." The words were simple, and he needn't have said it since it was already obvious, but he was crying again as the real revelation hit him twice.

He reached inside his blazer, pulling out a certain object.

There were further gasps and cries, but he couldn't hear. If he looked up now, he could be seeing Hermione bury her face into Ron's chest, and hear her muffled sniffling. He could've seen Ginny covering her mouth, Bill hugging Fleur from the side and Arnold Weasley squeezing Molly's shoulder. Neville bowed his head and cried softly like everybody else and Luna blinked just as sadly.

Draco Malfoy could have felt Harry Potter patting his back, but he was focused on one thing and one thing only: there was an open, crimson velvet box in his hand and a tiny diamond ring which lay inside. Because her favourite colour was red and her bones were very small.

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><p><strong>AN:** I'm sorry it dragged on so long! I imagined a shorter first chapter, but I guess this was the outcome of a gloomy day...  
>The last line may seem crappy, but it is open for a reason.<br>Please do listen to the music, it adds to the mood (turn it down low). The link for this chapter's song: HERE  
>I hope you liked it and thank you to my dopey best friend, 'Adelheid,' who claims to be my "number 1 fan!" (omg lol) for always being the first reader—you jelly pooface! I know your intentions! :P<p> 


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